


A Switch

by applejuice_motherfucker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, First Time, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Nook Eating, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejuice_motherfucker/pseuds/applejuice_motherfucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You need to shut the fuck up. I'm serious, it's driving everyone to distraction how much of an idiot you are. Nobody can concentrate on being a self-absorbed asshole when you're running around spouting bullshit from every orifice.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Switch

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr requested nsfw DaveKat shifting from black to red as they fucked so this is what I came up with.
> 
> It's stupid how long this took me and how many problems I had with it (and still have tbh) but fuck it, it's as good as its ever gonna get.

You had barely been on the damn thing for a month and already you had hated every fucking inch of this bullshit meteor. Every day, fuck, every _minute_ felt pointless and stagnant, nothing happened, nothing gained or even wasted.

A year later proved that things were steadily getting progressively worse. Time stood still as your little group readily fell apart. Kanaya drifted away, Terezi hasn't spoken to you for a good few weeks. You'd blamed their respective partners for that until you found out about Gamzee. Now you just blame yourself.

What kind of fucking asshole leaves his best friend to stew in his own psychosis and then gets upset when his not-ever-but-maybe-once-kinda-was girlfriend goes and starts some kind of twisted juggalo romance pantomime with said friend?

Two thumbs up; this guy.

You've developed a bad habit of staring in the mirror for hours on end, picking out each individual thing you despise about yourself. Ugh, these fucking horns, fuck. The way your nose widens that little bit when you stretch your mouth. The fact you are so ridiculously insecure that you can't hold down even the simplest of relationships. That's your favourite thing to hate about yourself, you figure. Makes the most sense, kind of. Maybe.

Fuck this shit.

The answer to hate is always more hate, right? Cancels that bitch right out. And who do you hate on this cursed chunk of rock more than yourself?

Two middle fingers up; _that_ asshole.

Dave smirks at you as you walk in, sending that fucking shiver of rancour down your spine. He was reading a fucking book, what a total dick, page held flat by a palm against his knee, cup of coffee in his other hand. Sat at the table, he twisted himself in his seat, opening towards you and the room.

“Dude, ain't seen you in days, where you been?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Stop, you'll make me blush.”

Ugh, fucking asshole.

In the back of your mind you're screaming, quashing those niggling little doubts. _'What if you just think he's annoying?' 'What if you don't actually_ hate _him?'_

No, fuck that, this is for real. Has to be. Nobody's fingernails had ever inspired that much disgust in you before, not even your own. Dave is sighing, closing the book and sliding it onto the table, coffee forgotten beside it, and if you could reach to pour it all over his lap you totally would.

“I've been getting no fucking sleep, man. Those dream bubbles are annoying as shit, I keep meeting your asshole relatives and they all suck dicks, like, I can't even tell you, so hard.”

Like you give a shit, fuck him.

“Like I care,” you mumble, bumping him as you pass to get to the coffee machine. Dave huffs out a small laugh and stands, his hand pushing gently at the back of your shoulder.

“Looks like I'm not the only one,” he says. His hand rests on your back. You've stopped walking, he's stopped laughing.

For some reason this is your trigger.

“You need to shut the fuck up. I'm serious, it's driving everyone to distraction how much of an idiot you are. Nobody can concentrate on being a self-absorbed asshole when you're running around spouting bullshit from every orifice.”

And you kiss him.

He kisses back.

It's hard; he's leaning back against the table and his hand catches your elbow as you drag your fingers down his throat. His lips are parted, perhaps in shock, or surprise, your tongue slipping between his teeth without a moments notice, and you feel him gasp against your mouth. You grip his side, tugging on the fabric of his cape that has trapped itself underneath him. You want to piss him off so you pull at it, nails digging in and ripping little holes. You know he can hear it, you know he's about to cut you off and shout at you, but fuck what he wants.

You pull him hard against you, leaning in to push him back at the same time, until he's awkwardly lying back on the desk, his legs confused and splayed around you. He gasps again, louder, angrier, yeah, come on, hate me, _do it_ , and yanks your head back, finger vicious in your hair. You don't get up, merely attack his neck as he pants and pushes at your shoulder.

“Dude, fuck..-ah!” Your teeth sink in, not too hard, enough to still him, your tongue soothing the bite immediately, lips sucking, and his hips grind up against you in response. He's biting his lip, you can tell his eyes are squeezed shut behind those ridiculous shades. You think for a moment about removing them, snapping the fucking things, stamping them to pieces because they're just so _fucking stupid, god damn_ but you don't. You want to keep them on him.You want to see yourself when you fuck him.

“Fuck man! I already told you I ain't into all this kiss-me-tude shit!” He sounds genuinely angry.

Good.

You lick up his neck, nip at his bottom lip, smirking as you go. His cheeks are flushed, he's sweating already. His fingers grip your shoulders, but he's not pushing you away any more. Maybe he doesn't know what he wants or something, whatever, who cares. He pants for a moment, just staring at you as you kiss against his lips.

“I don't get your weird 'bad romance' shit, I ain't into it, alright?”

You breathe a small sigh into his mouth; he kisses back absently when you press against him again.

“Then why're you still here?” Careful now, don't want him freaking on you. His fingers tighten a fraction before releasing. His brow furrows as he thinks, but he's still glaring at you.

“I haven't had any action in months, dude,” he says quietly, like that fucking clarifies everything. Seriously, fuck this guy.

“Oh, my deepest, most sincere apologies, man. I had no idea you were suffering so fucking hard,” you say, slithering down to suck at his neck again, your tongue sliding across his throat, feeling him swallow, a hand tangling back in your hair.

“Fuck you,” he breathes out as you press your hips hard against his, grinding up as you suck a kiss to his throat. His hand tugs but you stand your ground, clawing at his sides and down his thighs.

“Now you're gettin' it,” you grumble into his skin, and he yanks your head back up so he can kiss you, almost desperate as his legs finally wrap around your hips, arm coiling around your neck to hold you down above him. He thrusts his hips up against you as he licks your tongue, gasping into your mouth like some fucking over-sensitised virgin. It would almost be funny if it weren't so hard to think right now.

You tear at the fabric of his stupid outfit, ripping great holes in the sides, tugging as his arms move, pulling it from his neck until it's gone, and he's shirtless beneath you. He's about to shout but you shove a hand between his legs and rub him, hard and insistent through his pants, and all that leaves his mouth is a loud moan as his head thumps back against the table. His hands flutter at your arms, trying to pull you back down, but you're having none of it. You want him naked now, and you're not stopping until he is.

You force his legs apart, unwrapping them from around your waist, pushing them back before reaching for his waistband. His stomach flutters, the smallest little whine escaping his throat as he stares up at you, chest flushed and damp, arms useless above his head. It makes you pause, your eyes dragging themselves up his body to stare at his face, and he bites his lip when you make eye contact, damnable shades crooked on his face.

He looks so soft, like he trusts you, and for a second you falter, wanting to lean up and kiss him again, let him wrap himself around you, hear the little noises he chokes out from the back of his throat as he pulls you close.

Just for a second you want to smother his stomach in kisses, lick across each rib at his sides, place a mark with your mouth directly over his heart. You don't feel angry, or hateful, or particularly bad at all; you want to make him feel as good as you want to feel yourself. A quick glance at his face curls your gut and you're confused, gripping the waistband of his pants. He's still breathing heavily as he watches you. Fuck it, too late to back out now.

You tug them down, harder than you mean to, forcing his legs to straighten as you remove them. He grunts, hands slapping against the table surface to steady himself in case you pull him off of it too.

“Shit's sake, dude...” he grumbles as you start to pull his underwear down too, his legs stretching weirdly as you remove them. And then he's naked.

It makes you stop again. You've never seen him naked before. Hell, you've never seen _any_ human naked before. He leans up, resting back on his elbows, blushing furiously but obviously trying to act cool. Perhaps you're making him uneasy or insecure by just staring at it like this, but fuck it. It's weird looking. It's the same colour as his skin, if a little redder. It's hard though, a little wet at the tip of it, and you swear you can see it pulse as he breathes.

You reach down and touch it, stroking the back of your knuckles up the underside, and he jerks and huffs out a tiny gasp, fingers scratching the table as they curl. With your other hand you push his leg up and back, leaning down to nip at his skin of his hip. His other leg mirrors it, opening wide so you can fit between them, your mouth sucking at his inner thigh as your fingers finally close around him and stroke once upwards.

He hisses, sitting up a little more so he can watch you, his left hand leaving the table to stroke the back of your neck. The touch is a little too intimate, and it forces a pleasant squirming feeling in your stomach, your shoulders rolling as your tongue dances across his skin, pressing a kiss to the side of his cock which he gasps at, and it's the best noise you've ever heard.

“Watch your teeth,” he says suddenly, breathless and quiet, fingers curling in your hair again, but soft, asking, not demanding. His leg quivers as it rests on your shoulder. This isn't going right.

Yeah, okay, so maybe you haven't exactly done anything like this before. You've never felt like this for anyone except maybe yourself, but that aside, you're pretty sure this isn't how it's supposed to work.

There's meant to be passion, and hatred, and scratching and cursing and all that garbage.

Fuck.

You sink your teeth into his thigh, hard, and he howls above you, ripping at your hair as his entire body convulses and thrashes and twists away from you. He tugs and pulls and pushes at your head, shoving you back as you tumble to the floor, landing right on your ass.

“You fuckin' asshole!” he shouts, throwing his book at you before checking the wound, blood trickling steadily down his leg. The corner of it hits you sharply in the arm and you growl, but don't move. You didn't want to hurt him at all, but it's what's supposed to happen. It isn't meant to be tender and soft and like something out of a movie. Fuck, that thing looks bad...

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking away when he snaps his head up and glares at you.

“Fuckin' sorry? You coulda chomped my fuckin' dick off, shit-bird! God damn!” You wince when he winces, pressing at the damaged skin as light as he can.

“Wait there,” you say, and scramble up to stand and dart over to the coffee machine to collect water and bunch of tissues the Mayor discarded when he needed a new box for the city. He snatches a few from your hand before you even come to a stop beside him, holding them tight against his leg and hissing through his teeth as they slowly soak with red. You want to clean it yourself, take responsibility and perhaps kiss the broken skin better. He takes a few more tissues from you, dropping the old bunch on the floor. The bite itself isn't terrible, just in an awkward spot, right at the juncture of thigh and hip.

“I'm sorry,” you try again, softer now, shrinking your voice to sound as small as you feel. Guilt weighs heavy on you, especially when you notice that he's refusing to look up at you now.

“Is that what you guys do?” he asks after a few minutes of you standing there in silence, awkward and desperate to wring your hands, or kiss the wound better, or for him to knock you the fuck out, just anything. Your ears twitch, his voice startling you from a guilt-ridden reverie, and you swallow, thinking of asking him to clarify before he interrupts you before you can start. “Bite and tear each other open and make it feel like shit?”

“Not all the time,” you say. He still hasn't looked at you. Your voice rattles in your throat and you cough to clear it. “Only when it's, y'know. Black.”

“I already fuckin' said, man...” he cuts himself off as he glances up, catching your eye accidentally, or not. The small wad of tissue if handed to you, clean, but a little damp from the water, and you accept it like a blessing.

“I know you did,” you reply, and he's staring at you now, the lightest blush dusting over his cheeks and his nose. Perhaps he's embarrassed, though you don't know why he would be. He's probably still angry, but he doesn't look so murderous now so you figure you're safe to keep talking, for the moment at least. “I didn't, like...I don't know what I'm doing.”

He snorts, humourlessly. “I had no idea.”

“No, seriously. I've never done anything like that before, and I thought... No, I didn't think, or...-or maybe I thought about it too much, I can't tell...” You're not making any sense, but he's not saying a word so it's up to you to fill the silence. “You...you just piss me off so much so I thought-”

“You thought you'd try your weird voodoo love shit on me and I'd totally be down for it?”

“It's not voodoo.”

“I don't give a fuck.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” He grinds out an exasperated sigh when you shuffle your feet and stare at the floor, squishing the soft clump of tissue in your hand like some kind of stress reliever. He moves his leg, dangling them both off the edge of the table, shoulders hunched and tense, knuckles white with their grip on the side of the wood. “Just don't do that again.”

What?

“What?” No, what?

His face flushes and he looks away, a hand coming up to clasp at his shoulder as he shrugs. “Just don't try and rip my legs off or any shit, alright? I need those, man.”

You discard the tissue ball, dropping it to the floor. You wriggle your fingers absently before attempting to reach out and touch his knee, pull yourself back, then think fuck it, and go again. His body practically jumps with tension when you make contact with his still bare skin, and his arm falls, dropping back to his side to grip the table. You take a step, just a little one, your hand merely resting on the top of his knee, bringing yourself closer in front of him. His head hangs down, flush creeping down his neck to his chest, and suddenly you're almost as close to him as before.

“You still want to?” You're genuinely curious. He half shrugs, flicking his hair back a little as he chances a little glance at you. His mouth opens, then closes before repeating the motion, and all you can think as you watch it is how good it felt beneath your own. He'd tasted nice, a little bitter from bad coffee, perhaps a little stale with boredom, but nice. Different.

He wants to say something, he's holding himself back. When he speaks his voice is barely there, as if what he's telling you is a secret, but his shoulders curl in towards you as he raises his face to look at you properly, head tilting slightly to the right.

“Like I said, man, I ain't gotten none in ages. Man's got needs, y'know?” There's gravel in his throat, it shakes as he breathes, and you move closer, keeping your eyes on his lips the whole time. It's an excuse, you think. But now isn't the time for thinking. It's a second chance, you know it is, and you lean up that little bit further to take it.

It's soft this time, his lips already parted, and they suck against yours as your hands grip his thighs lightly. He mumbles a sigh as you press forward, your hips coming flush against the table between his legs, his hands catching you at your elbows to keep you in place.

He kisses you, his tongue stroking across your lower lip before drawing you in completely. You give him total control, you owe him that. A pang in your heart makes you want to pause, makes you freeze for a moment before getting lost in his mouth again. He sucks and licks, his hands travelling up your arms to hold your shoulders before he breaks off, watching your mouth as you try to follow his.

He tastes like you remember, feels better than before, and you want more of it. Perhaps this isn't as dark and hateful as you thought. Perhaps it's something different. Whatever it is, you're ready, and he seems to know that because his hands drop to your chest, pulling limply at your shirt. You waste no time in removing it, throwing it aside without a thought, breath catching in your throat as you retake your previous position, hands slightly higher, stroking up and down his hips as slow as you can. He catches you by the back of the head, both hands twisting in your hair as he holds you in place and stares at you over his shades. Your fingers dig in to his skin, blinking back and forth between his eyes and his mouth. Another kiss, short and hard, a tiny gasp slips out without you realising.

“Take 'em off,” he murmurs against your lips, your hands flying down to push your pants and underwear down immediately, a short huff of breath rushing out as your eyes flutter at the command.

Without a word he kisses you again, holding your head still as his tongue strokes inside you and sucks, licking around your teeth carefully, a low rumble in his throat vibrating into you. He shuffles himself closer to the edge, pressing his body against you as much as he can and a curse escapes you, pouring into his mouth as he gasps in response.

Your hand slides, rubbing hard up his inner thigh, the uninjured one, fingers curling around the base of his cock and he gasps, mouth hanging open against you as you stroke upwards. You lick into him, opening your eyes slightly to watch as he squeezes his shut, his hands gripping your hair so tight he might pull it out, his legs tensing and twitching with each motion you make between them. They try to close around you, to twist and pull you even closer but you hold them back, your hands shifting to push them open again as you kiss him once more.

His eyes open, glazed and slow, and he frowns for a second before catching on. You suck at his collarbone, bending, leaning down, trying to push him back again, but he's having none of it.

“No, dude, c'mere,” he whispers, tugging gently to bring you back up. He grins as you kiss him again, flushed and still breathing raggedly, pressing his head to yours to cut you off. “You're teeth ain't going anywhere near me, alright?”

You want to get angry, you really do. You want _him_ to get angry, you want to do this properly. But he's just pushing you back, slipping off the table and sliding to his knees in front of you and oh-

Sucking kisses across your stomach, his hand wrapping around you and stroking and he's not being rough at all. He's not using the same punishing pace you take with yourself all the time, he's not trying to hurt you. He's light and gentle on you, his mouth pressing every inch of your skin until his tongue can twist around the tip, lips sliding down and sucking you in as far as he can take. You purr out a curse and fist your hands in his hair, your eyes falling shut immediately, though you fight them open again.

He's not going hard or fast enough, his sweeping touches around your legs send little jolts of frustration through you and for some reason it gets you hotter. You want more and he's not giving it to you. He's enjoying himself, it's not just about pleasing you, and he gasps out, saliva threading with your own wetness as he pulls off just for a second, eyes flitting up to meet yours.

There's something there, a kind of mindless, nameless desire; his pupils dilated wide and eyelids heavy, and his chest is heaving as he gazes up at you, mouth wet and dripping down his chin. You're towering over him, guiding his head back in and he accepts you into his mouth again with a groan that shoots straight through you like a flame. His hand falls from your hip and fists around his cock, ruthless as he pumps it almost violently, and you thrust into his mouth, feeling the tip of his throat contract around you. He gags, chokes, pulls you closer, his hips rising to meet each tug of his hand.

“Fuck...” you breathe, and you can't look away, you can't not watch as his brows knit together almost helplessly and he tries to moan around your bulge but he can't so he hums his cries into you. Suddenly you want to hear him, everything he has to say and moan and beg for, you want his voice more than anything else, and you wrench his head back away from you. He's panting heavily, mouth glistening, his hands frozen in place on your body and his, eyes dazed for a second until they clear.

He stares at you for what seems like forever. You want to say something. You want him to say something. Do something, anything.

But suddenly, and you're not sure how, but you find yourself on the floor on your back, his arms curled behind your knees, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he's sucking at you again. His shades are useless, crooked and half hanging off his face, smudged and not covering his eyes at all. You want to remove them, but you figure he'll do that if he wants to. He's panting around your bulge, his tongue close to vicious as it traces around you, lips kissing and dragging and glittering with you smeared all over them. He unhooks his arms and forces your legs apart, sliding his head down to suck under the base of your bulge, the tiny patch of skin between that and your nook. His tongue presses there for a second and he kisses it, light, almost shockingly affectionate, his nose brushing it as he descends further.

You grip his hair again, unsure that you could speak even if you could find the words, and he's licking at the folds of your nook, panting deep into you, his tongue pressing too gently, tasting you, feeling you out inside. He groans softly, a small noise of approval, of appreciation, perhaps of pleasure, and his tongue slides inside you as deep as it can, stroking slowly along the narrow partitions of muscle that must be so alien to him, and making such obscene, delicious noises it makes your toes curl and point as you shake. You grip his hair, spreading your legs further, trying to pull him even closer, your heart trembling and your skin twitching as he sucks and kisses and licks into you, his thumbs holding you open, gasping like it feels just as good for him, though that has to be impossible.

His tongue sets your skin alight, a thousand nerves lit up, shocks travelling through your entire body with each flick and groan and suck and each time he breaks off to kiss and moan at your inner thigh, just to catch his breath. Your eyes are barely open, crossing over each time he manages to get as deep as he can inside you. All these noises are leaving your mouth, almost as if you want to answer each wet sound he makes between your legs with a whine or a curse or a growl, and your fingers thread through his hair, not in demand or desperation, but encouragement, asking, pleading for more, yes, fuck, please god, more.

He pulls back, breath dragging along your leg as he pushes himself up. You whine, try to tug him back down by his hair but he swats your hand away. Perhaps this is punishment for you biting him, you think, and squeeze your eyes shut to clear your head. You take a moment to focus, and when you do you see he's an utter mess. His face is flushed, sweating and wet with you, eyes dark and hazy.

His mouth is on yours in a second; you can taste yourself, his tongue pressing the flavour right into the back of your throat and he's whining into you, bushing up against your bulge, pushing his hips into yours and thrusting weakly, uneven and desperate. His entire body is flush with yours and suddenly you realise just how _hot_ he is, burning into you as he sweats and pants and sucks on your tongue, arms wrapping around your neck, legs trying to do the same at your hips.

You roll him over, pinning him down on the floor as he refuses to stop kissing you, only pulls you closer now that his legs can trap you down, holding you on top of him, like he thinks you'd go anywhere.

“Strider...” you pant into his mouth. He whines and licks your lips again, trying to pull your head back down. “Str- Dave,” you say, a little louder, and he stops, almost confused as he watches your face, shaking beneath you like a coiled spring, trembling as he waits.

Your hand shifts, and you have absolutely no idea what you're doing, stroking down, across his chest, his stomach, brushing your fingers along his cock, your bulge sliding against it, making his eyes flutter as he chokes and struggles to keep looking at you. You stroke yourself a little, spreading your wetness along his heated skin, slicking your fingers up as they slide down further. He gasps, eyes wide, and his legs lift as if he didn't mean them to, opening that little bit more as you reach down and make some kind of attempt at feeling him out.

This isn't working, you can't see what you're doing. He tries to hold you close, keep your lips pressed against his, little sighs and moans mixing together between you both, but you push yourself up, leaning down, your hand gripping his unbitten thigh to hold him open as you stroke your wet fingers down, past his cock, down into the little crevice beneath. He jerks slightly, freezes for just a moment, staring right at your face with a look of momentary panic. Perhaps he's just as inexperienced as you in this respect.

Whatever the case is, he grabs his knee, pulling his other leg up to his chest, head falling back. He trusts you, you think, and your eyes slide down so you can look where your hand is going.

It's so small,you think to yourself absently, a fingertip circling around the little hole. He shakes, biting his lip, eyes shut lightly, and you press inside as soft as you can. He hisses out a soft “ah-” as you wriggle it a little deeper, watching his face in case you make a wrong move. After a few minutes of pushing it in and out shallowly you try to add another, twisting them together like a promise as you work them in, and its actually quite fascinating to watch as he accepts you inside his body. “O-oh, fuck dude...”

“Okay?” you find yourself asking, mesmerised by both his body and his face as he moves and squirms before you, eyes opening and falling closed every other moment, lips never wet enough, his arms useless as he tries to hold onto the floor and his chest, gripping tight enough to leave little half-moons in the skin over his heart. He tilts his hips up a little, a tiny smile playing on his lips as his eyes stare hazily at the ceiling. You crook your fingers and he grunts, smiling wider, his legs opening further, hands clamping harder.

“F-fuck yeah okay-aah!” You thrust your hand harder, curling your fingers as they separate and scissor inside him. You speed up and he moves with you, clenching around your fingers with each stoke and thrust and flick inside. A constant little keen spills from his throat, spiralling around you both like smoke, light and barely there but you can hear it clear as anything and it rises, gets louder as you finger him harder. You withdraw only for a moment, spitting into your hand to slick your fingers up more before thrusting them right back in, trying to work in a third.

You lean down and he doesn't stop you, only groans as you move your hand deeper, and you lick a thick strip up his thigh, watching your fingers disappear inside him, watching him twitch around you, move and quake with every little twist and curl. You spread them out, opening him and he moans loudly as you do, wet with your saliva and slickness. A glance at his face makes you suck a kiss to the inside of his knee and draw your hand away.

He sighs, whines as you crawl up his body, his face red and damp as he reaches out for you, and you curl your tongue into his mouth before you've even settled above him, his legs locking around your back, grinding his hips, his cock, up against you, clawing down your back as he moans. His heels press at the small of your back and you suck on the juncture of his neck, your hand gripping his back as the other holds you up, your bulge slipping and seeking across his skin, finding his heat and sliding down into it. He chokes, biting his lip to hold back a noise and you lean up to kiss it free, letting him gasp and groan and curse into your mouth, pushing your hips down little by little, feeling yourself squirm and twist inside him.

He holds you tight, panting like he can't comprehend it, how close you are and how you can move so deliciously, so freely inside of him, but its happening and you can feel it too, and he pulls at your hair, sucking at your tongue, teeth tugging your lip, and you're both so _wet_. His head falls back as your rhythm increases, just slightly, just going that tiny bit harder. You can feel yourself stretching him strangely inside; his body isn't made for this, but he's loving every inch that he can take of you, his hips pulsing with every stroke of yours, arms gripping you tight. You look up, seeing his flushed cheeks, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck that you catch with your tongue, sucking a soft mark to the skin, his legs trembling around you as his voice wavers, soft and high.

You can see yourself in his shades, just like you wanted. But things have changed, and you don't want that any more. You want him, all of him, you want to see him, you want him to see you, and to see how good he's making you feel.

They land behind you, somewhere in the room, you don't care to check. His eyes are squeezed shut, but you increase your pace, moaning softly as he ripples around you, licking up his cheek, and he looks at you, glazed, dark and wet, delirious as he pulls you in further, body tightening around you in every respect. His lips suck against yours, still watching each other even this close, eyes heavy, hips twitching up with every hitch of your breath and each thrust you make into him.

He stretches around you, he grinds his cock up against your stomach, whimpering nonsense words into your mouth, so hot and tight everywhere around you and you can't stop; even if he asked now, you wouldn't be able to. He feels too good, tastes too good, sounds fucking amazing and you wish you could hear the words he's trying to say but he can't speak, can only pour syllables into your mouth, gasp with clenched teeth every time you press against that particular part of him inside. You kiss him, soft and small, the corner of his mouth, sucking on his lower lip, watching his eyes as you attempt to coax something, anything, from him. He blinks slowly, huffing a little moan as he licks across your tongue, your hips decelerating to a minor push, and you can still feel yourself moving in him, pulsing, throbbing, snaking around inside, slick and hot, tight and wet and wonderful.

“Dave...” you purr, sliding his name into his mouth like a kiss. It makes him contract around you, a small, guttural moan escape his throat. “Dave, fuck, oh god...”

He's still mumbling little incoherences, mouth still shaping over nameless words, his lips brushing yours each time, sucking on your tongue every time you slide it in. You tug at his lip, staring into his eyes, picking up the pace and shifting his hips a little higher, gripping his ass and squeezing as you thrust in properly. He can't take you all the way to the base but _fuck_ if this doesn't feel perfect already.

“A-ah!” he finally cries out, holding your head down against his, keeping you in place as he fights to keep staring in your eyes, panting deep and hard, contracting around you, legs hooking behind you, feet stroking down your back. “F-fuck, Karka-ah! Mm, fuck...!” He sucks another kiss to your lips, mouth ridiculously wet, his tongue desperate for yours, but you pull back a fraction, keeping your pace steady though its getting difficult. It feels like he's getting tighter by the second; writhing and rubbing up against you with each movement of your body.

“What is it?” you breathe, and he bites his lip, gasping out as he increases his rhythm beneath you.

“Fuck, god man...fuck, I l- oh god...!” You attack his neck, nipping at the mark you made earlier, sucking just under his jaw, matching his rhythm, gripping his ass harder, spreading him that little bit wider, his legs sliding higher around your back, opening more, his hands frantic in your hair. “Fuck, I lo-”

You snake your tongue in his ear, breathing hard, whining into it as he tightens around you again. One of his hands slips clumsily from your shoulder, reaching blindly between your bodies, and he grasps himself, choking out a hopeless curse. You lick into his mouth again and swallow the words he attempts and fails to cry out.

“I-I'm, I- gonna..!” He trembles, jittering beneath you, tensing and squeezing you, your eyes crossing and slipping shut at the heat that collapses around you as he goes rigid, quaking and pushing up into you with each wave of his orgasm. You spare a second to tear your eyes from his face, glancing down between your bodies, seeing three little strips of white splashed across his stomach, two on your own, his cock still twitching, hand still pumping as he stares into space. You feel your bulge inside him, wet as you've ever been, flexing and stroking him even still, even with every little whimper he gasps out as you lick the corner of his mouth. You fuck him through his aftershocks, slow and shallow, sucking at his jawline as he pants in hyper-sensitivity, free arm clinging to your back dangerously hard.

He curses out a sigh; he can't take any more. Your head droops to his shoulder, panting softly as you withdraw as slow as you can, though he still grips you tight and drags your face back to his, kissing you desperately as if trying to steal your breath.

“I-I can't-”

“I know,” you reply in a whisper, but he still won't let you go.

“No, c'mere...” is all he can manage, pushing and pulling at you until you're kneeling over his head, and he grips your thighs, bringing you down until you feel his tongue sliding back into your nook, and all thought leaves your head.

He sucks, groaning beneath you as you rock your hips above him, fisting a hand in his hair as you cry out and curse loudly, throwing your head back because fuck this feels too fucking good. You can feel his tongue massaging the outer skin, the wet little folds inside, lips kissing and sucking as he moans into you like he loves it. You grasp your bulge stroking yourself a little too fast, though he speeds up as if feeling it as well, his tongue wriggling inside and twisting, tasting every inch of you he can reach.

Your head feels light, fuzzy, you can't see properly, your eyes damp and unfocused as he sucks, fucking you with his tongue. “Fuck, oh f-fuck, shit!”

You can't manage anything other than a useless, moaning wail of desperation as your hand twists just the right way, gripping yourself too tight, and he groans inside of you, and you have to lean forward, lifting from his face as you come hard enough to blind yourself for a full minute, choking and panting and rubbing your face into the floor, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. He keeps a strong grip on your thighs, licking up the inside of them with little gasps that travel straight to your heart and interrupt its already unsteady beat with tiny flutters.

Time stands still. But when doesn't it?

After a moment you manage to still yourself, your entire body pulsing with tiny shocks, and you drag a huge, deep breath to try and clear your head, though its pretty useless. He's silent behind you, and you turn to crawl and flop down on top of him, winding him slightly, but his hand snakes up to stroke through your hair again, petting you, rubbing a horn absently. It sends you into a lull, eyes falling half shut as you refuse to think for a while, blurs and colours dancing in your brain as your body tries to get over what just happened to it.

He sighs, deep and with finality, the movement of his chest rousing you and you blink hard at the wall before turning your head to look up at him. You roll and move, trying to cover his entire body with your own, kissing softly just beneath his ear, your hands stroking any part of him that you can, and he wraps his arms around you. Now you're both here, now you've both just done...that, whatever that was, black or not, you can't seem to let him go. The thought of him moving away from you at all sends a stroke of fear through you and you grip a little tighter.

“Told you I wasn't into that black shit,” he mumbles into your hair. He sounds drunk, you think, and you wrinkle your nose against the light as you look up, still kissing every inch of skin your mouth passes.

“'S not black. 'S red,” you murmur as you kiss his lips, and he kisses you back, holding each other that tiny bit closer. Because what else could it be, really? It's the only thing that makes sense, you figure. You'll freak out about that later, though, because now he's still here, still holding on to you, still kissing you and letting you kiss him and still warm and breathing and soft beneath you.

“Love you,” he whispers into the kiss, and you smile against his lips, nipping at him gently, licking in apology.

“I had no idea,” you reply, and he grins softly as you kiss him again.

Time passes, probably, you can't tell. You just stay there on the floor. He freestyles lazily beneath you for a little while but you kiss him to shut him up. Footsteps come and go past the door but nobody disturbs you. You think how you owe him a new outfit and decide not to remind him about that right now. You think how you probably owe him a new pair of shades, too. But forget that. He's tracing his fingers over your scars and humming a nonsense little tune into your hair. You kiss down his shoulder, nuzzling into his chest, right over his heart, sucking a tiny mark there that won't last long at all, but it doesn't matter. Not when he huffs a little laugh and tilts your head up with a finger curled beneath your chin.

Maybe this meteor just got a little easier to deal with, you think, as he draws you back up to lick across your tongue with a tired little sigh. Maybe you're not so alone after all.


End file.
